The Man I Believe In
by Jubchili
Summary: A short Felicity one shot regarding Oliver leaving Starling to face R'As for the first time.


**A simple Felicity one-shot regarding Oliver when he goes to face R'As for the first time.**

* * *

Her fingertips barely brush the keyboard as she types. Each finger moves like a sophisticated, well-oiled clockwork machine. Going through the motions.

Always going through the motions.

That day he had walked into her office for help was an insignificant day. _Just another day at the office. Wasting away. Wasting away. _Those memories of her old life haunted her.

Haunt her still.

Back when her hair was dark and the shadow behind her eyes was dark and her soul was dark and her purpose wasn't. But it didn't work out so well. She changed. It worked out a little better than before, still slightly shattered. The mask wasn't a strong enough glue to stick the pieces back together. But it sufficed.

It hid her. It made him see _just another girl. Just another tool to be used for my purpose._

_His purpose._

It was strange, how and why she had agreed to it. She forgets it often, but her fingers don't stop moving. Her voice unwavering on the coms as she guides him - and others, but she focusses on him - through his motions, which he cannot go through himself.

_He needs me. _The thought crosses her mind now and then. No. It _crossed _it now and then.

Now there was little reason to sit at her station, in front of the flashing, blinking flat screens. Flat in shape, flat in colour. But her fingers moved. Her voice carried over the coms to the others.

_You left them here. It's not about me. It's all of us._

She sighs.

The others are having more trouble without him. They _need _him. What was their crusade without him? _His crusade_. Always was. But had it become hers?

Now she was nothing like what she was with the hacktivists.

Now her hair was light, the shadow behind her eyes turned bright, and her soul gleamed with passion for a purpose which was true and just.

Sometimes just. Sometimes too much.

She turned a blind eye to the bodies left in their crusade's wake. But he changed willingly. She never thought it was for her, or the others. It was death. Death of a friend, an enemy, a brother - it made no difference. He was an agent of death, and so death had the only capacity to change his ways. She was glad

She _is _glad.

But suddenly she wanted him to change back. To become the killer he once was.

_You are selfish. _She chides herself.

The others are really in trouble now. She sees no way through. The flashing screens in front of her - she surfs through each layout, each map - and escape is impossible.

_Without you it's impossible._

She makes no mistakes - each move at this point becomes deliberate. She no longer moves through the motions, but creates new ones. Anxiety bubbles. The others must live. _They must live. You must live._

No one can die because of her. She is many things but manslaughter, murder, death, sacrifice - She wants no part in any of them.

_They'll be angry. _She initiates her plan. She saves them. They will chide her for it. _But they'll be alive._

_You'll be alive too. Patience. Patience. Patience. Patience. _It repeats in her head. A reaffirmation. _Faith and belief isn't as weak as you think._

_I believe. I've always believed._

And she really did.

The message came through the coms. The others were safe. Unsure of what she had done. Safe.

Safe was all that mattered. They can't afford any more losses. There's too much to lose and too little to gain without him by their side.

_You are selfish. _She turns off the coms and spins her chair around. She looks at the green hood still on the mannequin and the empty quiver on the table in front of her. _Your love isn't strong enough a deterrent. Not strong enough to shake his belief. Even for that one instant. _She tells herself.

_Humanity will kill him. Why why why didn't I stop him. Merlyn should be the one to pay the price. Thea should be the one facing justice! Killers and not-killers and family and love and sacrifice and all these BONDS! Can't you just break a vow once? Tommy, he won't be of consequence. HE'S DEAD. DEAD. GONE. Honour and codes and vows and principles are of no consequence. Not when those you love and care about are dead._

_Why did I have to be smart. If I was dumb at least I'd be happily oblivious._

She answers the question herself. _He needs me._

* * *

Days passed. The time blurred - into mornings at work, in that office they used to share. Not so close together, but in contact. In the vicinity. Always an elevator ride away. Ray was solace in a strange form. Quirky, happy. Oblivious, yet aware of something not being _quite right. _That's how he put it, anyway.

And nights chasing criminals to back alleys while sitting in a comfy chair at a clean and sophisticated workstation. The music from Verdant blared overhead, a dull and inconsequential vibration. She is aware. Aware that up above, walking, breathing, living, safe, is his sister.

_You do not know his sacrifice. _She would think, every time they happened to cross paths. She bears no ill-will towards her - that isn't what he wanted. _Wants. _She corrects herself less often than before.

Hope never dies, even with evidence, but her faith wavered now and then. She never cries, only silently mourns. Always fantasizing.

Malcolm comes one day, with news or information or questions or just no reason at all - none of them know.

She is excited and frantic and annoyed and _angry. _He's the one at fault. Responsible for killing Sara, manipulating Thea, killing countless people, _killing him. _The thought nearly brushes the stagnant pool of her mind, but there is no ripple.

Her face is flaccid, but her eyes are daggers. Malcolm speaks. Every word isn't a knife stabbing her - as she thought. His words fell like pins dropping, the sound echoing in a silent and empty hall. Just there. Take it or leave it.

_There is still hope._

Her belief had not wavered for some time since then.

* * *

He comes again, breaking her vicious cycle of day-night work, sleep, eat, drink. Or maybe without the drink sometimes. She forgets things.

The flow of time ceases for a moment, when they see him. _Is it news? Good? Bad? _It is not only her thinking it this time.

This time.

There is a blade.

A blade with blood.

_His blood._

Of course she knows it's his blood. She is not _so_ naive. Tests are just formalities in this business she is in.

And Merlyn explains himself to them. He makes a snide remark - that they will start to make stories. Conspiracies. Theories. Scenarios in which he survives.

He's right. She will do anything, _anything _to prove, to justify her belief.

She never thinks of it. The hope still remains, and with it her fantasies. She never tries to make a stand against the others. She knows how they look at her, _those eyes filled with pity._

She finds it strange how they forget that it's their loss too. He isn't just someone special to her. Some had been longer than her and some recent - but the friendship and camaraderie is the same.

The hope.

It remains.

Strong like a surviving icicle at the start of spring - resilient. But nevertheless, it will thaw.

It will thaw.

The stories, conspiracies, theories, and scenarios form themselves, moulding and hardening like clay, and then shattering. She is not so naive. She may have been. After all that she has done by his side, she can't afford to be.

She is.

* * *

**There's so much more I wanted to write. I wanted to go IN DEPTH with Felicity's thoughts, but I find it really hard to capture her thoughts into WORDS. I KNOW how she feels - but find it hard to express it.**

**That's why I wanted to make this really vague and impersonal.**


End file.
